So What IS the Matter with Kansas?

In 1977 I left my native Texas for the Midwest on nothing but a whim. Accompanying me were dishes, a broom, some books, two kittens and a brand-new husband.We drove a '67 Plymouth Valiant that looked like a Beirut taxicab. Its smashed-out back window was covered with a sheet of plastic that flapped in the wind whenever the duct tape came loose. By the time we crossed into Missouri, night was falling and we lit matches to keep an eye on the speedometer and gas tank. Just before midnight, we stumbled into St. Joseph, Mo., where a friend lived, and a few days later decided that the city just to the south looked a whole lot better. Thus began our 32 years in Kansas City, home of Scott Roeder, the accused killer of Wichita abortion doctor George Tiller, who was shot at his church Sunday morning.

Kansas City straddles the state line between Missouri and Kansas. We've lived on both sides, but there's not much difference when you're just a few blocks from the neighboring state. Except for one congressional district and the occasional Democratic governor, the Republicans have a lock on Kansas. Just west of our lovely Flint Hills, the evolution "debate" still rages. After a Kansas Board of Education election in 2004, conservatives gained a 6-4 majority. The following year, the board voted to change the way science is taught. Among its mandates: Present evolution as a theory, not a fact. The 2006 election restored the board to sanity, but no one knows how long that will last. Conservatives have not given up.

Kansas lays claim to some of the nation's most competitive basketball teams. It has given us President Obama's mom, silent-film star Louise Brooks, and the sleepy, hip college town of Lawrence, which was founded by New England abolitionists. Once you leave Lawrence, though, it's church steeples, grain silos, American flags and Wal-Marts as far as the eye can see. This is the Kansas of gay-bashing hatemonger Floyd Phelps. This is the Kansas of Dr. Tiller's accused killer.

There is such a thing as midwestern decency, which comes in handy when you're dealing with cops and doctors. But finding soul mates and engaging in stimulating conversations? Not so much.

While there's no shortage of racists and sexists in Texas, my home state is – and always has been – a pluralistic society. (Thus the six flags in Six Flags over Texas). The notorious Texas swagger also comes with a perk: People that confident will say anything. You can buy a six-pack at the convenience store, and the next person in line will tell you about her date the night before. In detail. Inappropriate, yes. Dull, no. That's the Texas I miss. Kansas, you could learn a thing or two from my home state.

Author Thomas Frank wrote a whole book on the subject of what's the matter with Kansas. But if you want it boiled down to one paragraph, I propose this one from the 2002 Johnson/Peirce Citistates Report on Kansas City:

Politeness can backfire. So that when a Kansan finally does cross over into issue advocacy, he just may skip the middle ground entirely. In Texas there are problems, but reticence is not one of them. Texas has its share of nuts, but the tradition of bragging and bitching just might be serving an important purpose – steam venting. And thereby keeping at least a few guns holstered.